


Within the Times of Cold

by thebowtie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock and Irene are bros, i dont think im good in tagging things, really this all totally happened in the series, sherlock is a cutie, slow built, there is a happy ending at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebowtie/pseuds/thebowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't always notice when John leaves the flat. It's different, however, when John's on a date. Sherlock usually knows beforehand when when John is going out with a woman. And once he knows he can't bring himself to forget it that easily. It's making noise in his head and he just doesn't like it. So far he hasn't come to a result why. And actually he tries his best to not think about it to start with. </p><p>(or: my version of the happenings in A Scandal in Belgravia seen through Sherlock's eyes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within the Times of Cold

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a translation of my own work that I originally wrote in German. Any hints and correction concerning the language are welcome. 
> 
> I always had this head canon about A Scandal in Belgravia and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

_Friday, 14th of November 2008_

It's winter in London. The air is freezing and tastes like frost. The people are irritated and the sky is hanging at the tops of the skyscrapers, way down to their feet the River Themes is searching her cold way threateningly. The trees at the banks and in the parks are bald; trembling at the thought of the fires behind the secure walls of the city.  
It's precisely this time of the year that one begins to wonder whether it'd be better after all to burn to death, instead of freezing.

Over 221B Baker Streets lays the early darkness of a winter's day and the uneasy peace of being abandoned.

John is out. He's sitting in a restaurant near Trafalgar Square and eats dinner with Janet (the boring teacher). He's very charming and blue-eyed and they laugh a lot about trifles and stories which are mainly told by her while the food goes cold.

Outside the restaurant on the other side of the street in the shadow between two street lights stands Sherlock and watches, unnoticed.   
Sherlock doesn't always notice when John leaves the flat. Or maybe he does, but he forgets far too fast (all this John Things are so much too big - he can only keep in his mind what he really needs). Besides: John's presence is pleasant. Why should he do without it if he doesn't have to after all?   
It's different, however, when John's on a date. Sherlock usually knows beforehand when when John is going out with a woman. And once he knows he can't bring himself to forget it that easily. It's making noise in his head and he just doesn't like it. So far he hasn't come to a result why. And actually he tries his best to not think about it to start with.   
Just like that sometimes Sherlock doesn't notice when he's leaving with John. He simply rises and follows after him. Unobtrusively and always with a certain distance. Maybe as an exercise - because, truth be told, it's surely not exciting. John is able to surprise him, yes. But usually he's still doing what Sherlock expects him to do. To observe John has something peaceful. And, with John, for the first time Sherlock tries to understand, even though with no success. It usually ends with Sherlock simply smiling when John doesn't look at him and being thankful that John stays.   
This time, however, it's different. Sherlock ends in front of a pane and watches John laugh and feels left out - just how he's been feeling since always, but this time he cares, because it's John. 

He stands in the city's shadow and trembles, because not even his body can resist the cold, even though he's still used to being cold. And he can see how John is acting for her. In a maybe not totally concious way, but clear for him to see. John is making effort to please her. He's laughing a bit too exaggerated and he's paying compliments for things that don't seem special to him. Sherlock doesn't have to actually hear the conversation to know that. He doesn't even have to be very near. She isn't John's type. Just like the one before her (the one with the dog) and even a little bit less than the one before before. It makes an almost desperate impression on Sherlock, the way John just takes what he can get and then tries to be happy with it. Sherlock doesn't understand it. Sentiment. Probably.  
He knows that he's acting himself with John's girlfriends. He buttons up and he offends them by getting their names wrong. He doesn't understand that either. Sentiment. Probably.  
(Because in reality it's John who can't hold his girlfriends apart and Sherlock who knows everything about them.)

Sherlock is cold and turns to leave when the waiter brings desert on the other side of the pane. Vanilla ice cream. The moment he starts to move John is looking up from his plate and over to him. Sherlock pauses, but John can't see him. He only sees his own reflection in the window and for split moment he stops acting. Then he laughs again and Sherlock disappears in direction of Baker Street; throwing a short glance at the security camera that's watching him from the top of the restaurant entrance across the street. Caring is no advantage - and still they do care; both of them. 

 

Tuesday, 18th of November 2008

It's midnight. _Almost fairy time_. In the kitchen the clock is ticking and Sherlock is sitting down in his armchair after steering the fire. The fire crackles. John won't come back home tonight. He's with Janet.

The mobile groans on the sofa. Sherlock doesn't rise, he just opens his eyes and breaths. He could text John to come home. Sherlock knows that John would. And he'd be angry at him as soon as he'd figure that there's nothing. No case; not even a case of emergency. But he'd be there. Away from Janet.  
Below him in Mrs. Hudson's place the TV is on. Most likely she's forgotten to buy her pills and can't sleep now. Sherlock was grocery shopping. He's bought milk. But John didn't notice. He'd been too busy (with showering and shaving and looking good for her) to make some tea. He hasn't looked in the fridge. And now the bottle is empty and the milk is part of an experiment. 

Suddenly Sherlock's afraid that John won't come back ever again. 

 

Thursday, 27th of November 2008

John stands in the doorway between kitchen and living room and looks at Sherlock who's lying on the sofa, trying not to feel betrayed. There's no reason after all. Not in the least. Gaseous water is rising from the cup in John's hand. 

"Sherlock, I'm talking to you", John tries again. He's unsure. Whether Sherlock heard him or is actually sleeping (John is seeing him sleep so rarely, but acting so often). He's carefully putting down his cup on the living room table and kneels down next to Sherlock. His face is flat. 

"Come on, Sherlock, I know you're awake", says John quietly, because he's afraid to wake him up. Sherlock opens his eyes nevertheless. They look at each other - _for eternities_ is usually said. And Sherlock tries to see John the way his girlfriends do. Blond and blue-eyed and with so much warmth. He understands why they go out with him. But he thinks that they don't deserve him nevertheless. They don't know him properly, not the way Sherlock does, anyway. And then: does Sherlock deserve him?   
His mobile groans somewhere beneath him.   
John turns, annoyed, and rises to his feet before Sherlock can come to a result. 

"Well, what do you say about it?", asks John when Sherlock opens Irene's message.

"What do I say about what?", Sherlock replies, connecting his fingertips in front of his chest. John rolls his eyes and sits down in his armchair, leaning forward, his arms resting on his tights, fingers entangled in each other.   
"Janet", says John, "Can she come for Christmas?" No.  
"Why do you ask me, not her?"  
"Because you're living here, too. So she can come." He could say no. He could say that he doesn't want her there neither on Christmas nor any other evening. And what then? John would go; and he'd go to Janet. Thus he says nothing. He remains in silence and comes to no end with it. 

 

_Monday, 6th of December 2008_

The lab glows lazily under the surface. Molly's breathing is too loud in the silence and Sherlock doesn't care. She listens to the words he doesn't say and thinks of home, of ludicrous hopes and myosin, rigor mortis. 

"John is staying with Harriet for the holidays", says Sherlock into her diagnosis. He is doing that sometimes - talking about John. She never knows whether he is saying it to her or to himself.   
"Who is Harriet?" She asks and feels daring and self conscious at the same time. Sherlock glares through the eyepiece of the microscope and she thinks that maybe he doesn't even know she's there.   
"His sister." He sounds quite a bit vaguely. She would love to ask more. But she doesn't want to destroy her little moment of success; even though he's only complaining to her after all. 

(She doesn't know how special she is.)

 

_Wednesday, 24th of December 2008_

Sherlock stands in the green cold of St. Barths' morgue and knows that it is not Irene Adler lying in front of him (and neither was her at any time). Only a dead body, artfully edited. He hadn't really expected it to be her. She'd send her last message only hours ago and now he's standing before a corpse that is dead for at least half a day. Not to talk of the body itself which he doesn't recognize at all. But he plays along. He identifies her and he takes a cigarette from Mycroft; just because: why not? And he almost enjoys how easily he can trick Mycroft even though they know so much about each other it seems unhealthy. Besides they had an open bill. This thing with the FBI agent almost shooting John. Caring is not an advantage. 

When he comes home, Janet is gone. Everyone is gone. Except for John who is still sitting there and waiting for him, probably because Mycroft gave him a call. John who actually stayed. 

So the two questions of the last weeks remain. One of them that his bothering him and keeping him busy and sleepless is Irene Adler - _the_ woman. And why she wants to be dead.  
The other one, of course, is John. John, John, John, And John all over again. And the fact that he's kept count.

 

_ Monday, 29th of December 2008 _

Sherlock thinks about _the_ woman, but it doesn't help. The code could be anything. Still she is playing and that means there has to be a hint. It's a riddle just for him. Why would she let him solve it? It doesn't help to play the violin either. Because the tones don't stay with Irene but wander to John. John who hasn't gone to visit his sister and keeps an eye in him instead. Sherlock doesn't need a babysitter. But he's glad that John stayed. John stayed and Janet is gone and everything could be good, just that Sherlock doesn't understand why. 

Sherlock writes a song for John. 

 

Wednesday, 31st of December 2008

Sherlock looks after John when he is leaving the flat. Why doesn't John notice that he is still here, with Sherlock, even though he could have been gone? With Janet or Melanie (the one with the (freckles) or Sara. Why doesn't he notice that he stayed and what that must mean? Or does he know and it doesn't mean anything? Until now nobody stayed with Sherlock if they had the opportunity to leave - the chance for something better. John could have a family. Kids. A wife who loves him. John is longing for this. Nevertheless he stays. Why would he do that? 

Doesn't Sherlock love him, too?

London is cold under the snow that has just arrived and is melting again already. It's a silent and probably not a final loss, but the city seems sad and grey in the last light of the year.  
John is sitting in a car and looks outside. Through tinted panes on houses, streets and people who are flushing by. (What if London were an ocean?) Mycroft probably wants to know how Sherlock is doing, whether he's getting over it well. John shakes his head to himself. Sherlock Holmes being lovesick. And shouldn't it be John - the one with the broken heart? But his heart is still beating, save and sound in his chest. He hasn't thought of Janet since Christmas. Just of what he has done wrong, but not so much of her. He wonders whether she is right - is Sherlock Holmes a lucky man? 

Sherlock stands in the empty warehouse between shelves and walls (he's gone with John, again) and he listens to John explaining that they are not a couple. Just for the record - Sherlock does care (perhaps even cares a lot). His mobile groans.   
 _He is totally jealous. Funny that he thinks_ you _don't know I'm alive, don't you agree? How about dinner?_  

Sherlock throws the American out of the window. If he could, he would do it three times. Once for John. Once for Mrs. Hudson. And once, just because. Violence clears the mind and he decides that he needs a clear mind for the Irene Adler riddle which is becoming  smaller and bigger at once. 

 _Happy New Year. SH_ (Thank you.) 

(If London were an ocean they'd all freeze, because the water is too cold for breathing. The snow would melt anyway.)

 

Saturday, 14th of February 2009

The night is raining through the city and midwinter is slowly forgotten. John's room is almost dark. Only the light of the street lamps is shining in through the window. John's breathing is peaceful and heavy from the dusty air. He doesn't have nightmares any more. Sherlock is sitting at the wall beneath the window and watches him sleeping. He still thinks of Irene Adler, but actually only because John lied to him. John said she is alive. Which technically is true, but John can't know that because Mycroft thinks otherwise. John didn't tell him she is dead, because he wants Sherlock to be content. Furthermore John had been happy to hear that Sherlock does not care (though he does care). 

Sherlock doesn't oversee the signs any longer. But the time isn't there yet. John has to know as well. And that's why Sherlock must wait, even though he is not sure yet how to know when the time has come eventually.  

Sometimes it is still easier to live with lies. 

 

Thursday, 15th of December 2009

Occasionally it is strange how one wakes up one morning and things have started and ended, without anyone noticing it. 

John enters the kitchen. He has dreams in his eyes that he can't remember and his hair is a mess. It smells like tea and flames in the fireplace. From outside rain is splashing against the window. It is John's free day. Mrs. Hudson is at her sister's. On the table a cup of tea is steaming. Sherlock is sitting on his chair and reads the newspaper. Next to the tea cup there is a basket with toast and next to that a jar with jam an even a plate. 

"You made breakfast."  
"Obviously." Sherlock folds the newspaper reverently before he looks up to John.   
"You never make breakfast."  
"Does it bother you?"  
"No", John laughs surprised and tingly, "That'S nice."  
"Good." Sherlock smiles and John smiles back and forgets to sit down.   
"Just like that?", he asks eventually. Sherlock looks at him.   
"That's what people do isn't it?", he asks back. Maybe he is amused.   
"What people do, if?"  
"If they want to make someone happy."

Maybe it seems to easy if after such a long time you open your eyes and suddenly you know that you arrived already. But it doesn't feel hard either when John walks over to Sherlock and kisses him like they've been always doing it. And he laughs and cries all at once, leaning his forehead against Sherlock's, because he can't believe it. But it is good. 

They are good. Everything is good for this one moment that was worth the waiting and freezing and hoping. For both of them. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a sad Reichenbach epilogue that I haven't translated. It's not that long though in case someone wants to insist :) Comments are very welcome.


End file.
